


Something's Wrong with Molly

by SimplyShelbs16



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-TFP, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-07 13:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19210120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyShelbs16/pseuds/SimplyShelbs16
Summary: Sherlock frantically tries to deduce why Molly's having a bad day during the phone call.





	1. the hurt

**Author's Note:**

> written for ColonialFire24 on tumblr!

                “Hello Sherlock. Is this urgent, cause I’m not having a good day.”

                Sherlock frantically looked for any physical signs on the video feed that could’ve contributed to Molly’s bad day. What was wrong? What made his Molly so sad? Her current mood would make this harder than ever. He didn’t want to hurt her, but here he was, ready to plunge the knife into her beautiful, loving heart, beating the sweetest melody. She looked a bit bloated—menstrual cycle perhaps, but there was something more. Her eyes looked haunted, as if she had seen something she wished could be unseen.

                “Molly, I just want you to do something very easy for me, and not ask why.” He knew this would be far from easy. Sherlock knew her well, and he knew she’d fight him on this request. It was at this moment, he knew the stakes. If he drew these words forcefully from her pretty pink lips, she would never speak to him again. It was a risk he was willing to take to save her life.

                “Oh, God,” she scoffed. “Is this one of your stupid games?”

                “No, it’s not a game. I… need you to help me.” _Cat. Toby isn’t meowing. There’s no sign of him anywhere. Oh God, she must have needed him to be put down today. She had mentioned her cat taking ill a couple of days ago._

“I’m not at the lab,” she replied curtly. _I know you’re not_ , he wanted to say. He took notice of the dark circles beneath her eyes; lack of sleep was evident.

                “It’s not about that.”

                “Well, quickly, then.”

                Sherlock blinked rapidly, unable to form the words he needed. He knew time was running out, but was unable to find a way to save her from the turmoil he was about to put her through.

                Molly sighed in annoyance. “Sherlock? What is it? What do you want?”

 _You_ , he thought. The tick-tocking in Moriarty’s voice made him feel queasy, knowing the end result of this exchange was going to be heartbreaking for both of them. Getting his thoughts together, he spoke clearly and calmly. “Molly, please, without asking why, just say these words.”

                The corner of her mouth lifted up in a small smile, clearly intrigued by his request. “What words?”

                _Here goes nothing_. “I. Love. You.” Sherlock hoped his clinical tone would help the situation. It obviously had the opposite effect, he realized, watching her smile drop as she pulled the mobile away from her ear, thumb hovering over the ‘end call’ button.

                “Leave me alone.” Her voice was sharp, and rightly so.

                Feeling the panic settle in, Sherlock raised his voice, speaking frantically. “Molly, no, _please_ , no, don’t hang up!  Do _not_ hang up!” His eyes moved over the screen, as if trying to find the answer to the universe within her flat’s kitchen; within Molly, herself. Eurus’s voice over the intercom reminded him to be calm, or else…well, he would never let it come to that. If the only way to save her was to have her hate him, then so be it.

                “Why are you doing this to me? Why are you making fun of me!?”

                Sherlock realized then what was wrong with Molly. A string of events led to the state she was in now. He remembered the bottle of migraine pills she had begun carrying around with her not long after Mary’s death. He then spiraled into a drug-addled state, nearly killing himself in the process, and then nearly being killed by Culverton Smith. She recently put Toby down, and the anniversary of her father’s death was fast-approaching. The fatigue, and loss of interest were the most obvious signs. She didn’t appear to have been eating much either, though her bloated state covered that up for the regular mind, but Sherlock saw right through her.

                Molly Hooper, carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, was in a state of depression, and this phone call wasn’t going to make things any better. Sherlock silently prayed to a God he didn’t believe in. “Please, I swear, you just have to listen to me.”

                _“Softer, Sherlock,”_ Eurus reminded him.

                “Molly,” he began in a cheerier tone, “this is for a case. It’s…it’s a sort of experiment.” The moment those words left his lips, he knew they were a bit not good.

                “I’m not an experiment, Sherlock.” Despite her physical shakiness, her tone was firm.

                His eyes widened in panic. “No, I know you’re not an experiment. You’re my friend. We’re friends. But…please, just…say those words for me.” His voice broke, a result of his emotions knocking hard against his usual detached demeanor. He could swear he heard both of their hearts cracking open at the pained look on her face.

                “Please, don’t do this,” she begged him. “Just…just…don’t do it.”

                “It’s very important. I can’t say why, but I promise you it is.” He could hear the emotions he unleashed creep into every word he said. Could she? Sherlock hoped so.

                “I can’t say that. I can’t…say that to you.” She sounded calmer, but not enough to understand there was more to this call. _Come on, Molly, you’re so brilliant; why can’t you understand the gravity of this situation? Don’t you know me at all?_

                “Of course you can. Why can’t you?” Sherlock felt he was going to lose it right there.

                “You know why,” she insisted.

                _I do? Surely, I would’ve known why. She hates me; that’s the only possible reason._ “No, I don’t know why,” he pressed.

                Molly sighed, sniffling, wiping a hand across her nose. “Of course you do.”

                _God, please, give us strength_. It was all he could think in that moment. The tick-tocks were driving him insane. “Please, just say it.” He swears he’s never said the word ‘please’ so much in his life.

                “I can’t. Not to you.” Molly refused to budge on the subject.

                “Why?”

                Her voice breaking, she replied, “Because…because it’s true.” A few rapid breaths, and she was speaking again. “Because…it’s…true, Sherlock.” Molly was crying now, unable to hold back the tears that had welled up in her eyes. “It’s always been true.” It was practically whispered, but he heard her loud and clear.

                Sherlock allowed himself a moment of happiness in a split second, before slipping back into his detached façade. “Well, if it’s true, just say it anyway.”

                Molly laughed in disbelief. “You bastard.”

                “Say it anyway,” Sherlock spoke firmly.

                “ _You_ say it. Go on. You say it first,” she challenged him.

                Shock was written all over his face. “What?”

                “Say it,” she demanded. “Say it like you mean it.” Her voice softened, as if she hadn’t meant to be so firm with him at first.

                Sherlock takes a breath, and closes his eyes after Eurus warned him he only had thirty seconds left.  “I…” he began hesitantly. “I…I love you.” He braved another look at the screen, and noticed the small smile that appeared on her face. His mind palace brought up all of the crucial memories of their friendship in the speed it took to have your life flash before your eyes. In Sherlock’s case, his life _was_ flashing before his eyes. Molly was everything to him; all these years he was falling in love without even realizing it until this very moment. “I love you.” His voice was soft, brimming with epiphanies and possibility.

                Molly closed her eyes for a moment, and brought the phone down to look at the screen once more. _Please don’t hang up, Molly._

“Molly?” he felt the panic rise in him all over again. “Molly, _please_.”

                Her lips were nearly touching the phone as she finally spoke, “I love you.” And then it was over. The last nail in the proverbial coffin, twisted within both their hearts, shattering their friendship into pieces. Sherlock swore he could feel it embedded deep within him. And although he was well aware that she wouldn’t speak to him again after this, he still found himself thanking God that she was safe.

                 


	2. the healing

When Sherlock, hesitantly, used his key to Molly’s flat, and stepped inside, he was surprised to find her already looking at him as if in waiting. The only lights emitted from the sitting room where she lounged on the sofa, a nearly-empty wine glass in her hand. She only had the floor lamp on its lowest setting, and the telly displayed a talk show with the volume down too low to make any sense of it.

                “I was wondering when you’d come ‘round.” Molly broke the silence with the soft lilt of her voice.

                “Yes, well, I felt the need to explain myself,” he replied simply, already welcoming the clinical façade like an old friend. He needed to remain stoic if he was going to get them both through this unscathed. “What happened tonight was an experiment, but it wasn’t mine.” He took a deep breath. “The threat was dealt with, but I do need to search your kitchen for cameras.” He watched patiently as she took her last sip of wine. “My sister, whom I just recently learned existed, is who was behind all of it; the phone call, the various murders I saw tonight, everything.”

                Molly showed no emotion, but only asked, “And, how does that make you feel?” The question threw him off. She knew he was using his usual façade, but she needed him human for this conversation.

                “High functioning sociopath,” he remarked, as if it were obvious. Sherlock knew from the change of expression on her face, that it was a bit not good. He jumped as he heard the shattering of the wine glass on her hardwood floor.

                “ _Damn it_ , Sherlock!” she shouted. “You need to let yourself feel something completely for once in your life! I cannot be having this conversation with you if you’re not on my level, here. I know you feel things; I’ve seen glimpses, but I’ll be damned if you’re going to be all cold, and unfeeling about what happened tonight!” Molly was crying now, out of anger rather than sadness.

                “You’re not mad at me about the phone call? Only that I won’t allow myself to crumple before your eyes? Do you really hate me enough to want to see my pain!?” His voice betrayed him, shaking as he spoke.

                “Hate you?? Sherlock, I’ve never, nor could I ever hate you,” Molly sobbed. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ve known you love me too, but we’re never going to heal from this if we don’t cut ourselves open for the other to see. I never like seeing you in pain, but you need to stop shutting me out every time we start to get close.” Her legs shook, and she felt unable to stand any longer. Luckily for her, Sherlock rushed over in time to catch her. When she looked up at him, she saw his own tears silently rolling down his cheeks as he carried her to the sofa.

                “I’m so sorry,” he spoke breathily just before pressing his lips to hers lightly. He continued to whisper against her mouth, every word he felt she deserved to hear. “I love you. I have for a very long time.” Then he kissed her again, firmly this time, and she reciprocated, matching his passion. It was a kiss that even Cary Grant would approve of. Molly held onto him tightly, relishing in the warmth of his embrace, and the comfort of his kisses. “I’m a wreck, Molly.”

                “Then let’s be wrecks together,” she laughed softly. “It feels bad now, but it’s gonna get better; you’ll see.”

                And it did. Each morning, they woke up feeling a little bit better than the day before until they were just simply happy. Every night, they talked for hours about anything and everything; about the hard stuff, and the easy stuff, and everything in between. All of their friends noticed the change in him. He was still his usual self, but he was softer in some ways. He no longer carried himself as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders, but as if he held the world in just the palm of his hand; and he did whenever Molly’s hand was in his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it took so long for me to post this. I had it going in all different directions until I decided on this one. I hope y'all enjoyed it!


End file.
